Three Little Words
by Fantasia-the-Crazy
Summary: After the Jellicle Ball, Misto has something to say to the queen of his dreams. But it won't be that easy. Before it's over, he will find himself caught right in the middle of a nasty love pentagon. T for language and some content.
1. Prologue: The Midnight Dance

_AN: Hello and welcome! This used to be my first fanfic under the title of "Can a Broken Heart Still Race?" But now it's being renamed and rewritten, and will become bigger and better than ever. If you're familiar with my other fanfic "I Won't Say I'm in Love Again", the sequel to this original story, I would just like to put out there that it is on an extended hiatus, and I will be rewriting it after this story is complete, also under a new title ("All Over Again") – although it's worth noting that I'm also toying with the idea of combining that story with this one to eliminate the hassle of there being two stories following the same plot. Thoughts, anyone?_

_Anywho, I hope you enjoy this!_

-x-X-x-

Music blared. Lights shone. Cats pranced and twirled every which way. The whole of the Jellicle Junkyard seemed alive with energy and delight. It was a typical Ball, not unlike any other. The kittens who were finally old enough to attend for the first time took in everything with wide eyes and huge grins. Yesterday, this junkyard was their home, and it would be again tomorrow – but tonight, it was a dance floor, and their young minds were captivated by it all. Even the adults who'd been coming year after year still couldn't help but find themselves caught up in the merriment with kittenlike wonder.

And, of course, the Ball was also a time for couples to bond, as well as for new ones to form. It happened every year, but this time around, one couple in particular stood out above the rest. The queen was snow-white and the tom was as black as the midnight sky with only a white face and chest to set him apart from the shadows. Under the spotlight, they were the picture of perfection together. The way they danced, each move synchronized and flawless, was nothing short of breathtaking. They were perfectly matched, almost as if they were meant to be from the very beginning.

As the two dancers took the stage, the onlookers couldn't help but find their eyes automatically drawn to them. The two could sense their tribemates' gazes upon them, but it was as if they didn't even notice. In the tom's case, there was only one set of eyes he was concerned with – and those were the crystal-blue eyes of his partner locked into his own deep brown ones. It seemed that even he was enchanted by the dance, and it was with every ounce of willingness that he allowed himself to be swept away by it. His footpaws felt lighter than air, and not a single step he took was out of place. The moment was indescribably perfect.

It was Mister Mistoffelees's second Jellicle Ball, and it was Victoria's as well. It was the previous year that he'd begun to notice Victoria for the first time, dazzled by the utter grace and perfection with which she moved, both in and out of the spotlight. And ever since then, he knew that he simply had to dance alongside her. This year, his wish had been granted when he'd been given the opportunity to perform the Invitation with her, which he happily accepted. They were now in the heart of the Ball, where every cat joined in to dance the night away, and Mistoffelees had asked the snow-white queen for another dance. So dance they did. When it was over, the tuxedo tom hardly felt tired; he was simply too exhilarated. His paws longed to keep dancing for as long as the night would allow.

"Misto, that was wonderful," Victoria purred as they took a seat in the shelter of the old oven. "You're a fantastic dancer."

Misto grinned half-sheepishly. He was glad that the dim light of the oven hid the pink tint that was entering his pale cheeks. "So are you," he replied sweetly. Extending a paw toward her, he asked, "May I have another dance?"

Victoria giggled. "Later, silly," she mewed, giving him a playful nudge. "We've just sat down, and besides – it's almost time for the Mating Dance."

The grin faded the slightest bit from Misto's face. "Oh, right . . . that," he mumbled unenthusiastically, and let his paw drop to the ground. Each year, one young queen would be chosen to perform what had come to be known as the Mating Dance, which signaled her entrance into adulthood. It usually happened during her second or third Ball, and was performed with a tom around the same age as she. The tom and the queen would perform a pas de deux together, and, traditionally, it was then that they would become a mated pair – but in recent years, some of the queens had begun to choose not to be mated to the tom who participated in the dance with her. The real purpose of the routine, after all, was to establish the queen as a full adult, not to pin her to a tom for the rest of her life. But, due to the tradition, the dance was still known as the Mating Dance nonetheless.

"Oh, Misto . . . lighten up," Victoria sighed. "I know you're still a bit upset that I chose Plato over you, but that silly old dance doesn't mean anything anyway." Having taken quite a liking to her over the course of the past year, Misto had made it rather obvious when it was announced that Victoria was to perform the Mating Dance that he wanted to be the tom to perform it with her. But Victoria had chosen Plato instead. It was the rust-and-white tom's third Ball, and Misto assumed that he'd been chosen simply because he was bigger and stronger and had less of a chance of dropping the white queen during the routine. And so he'd accepted Victoria's choice, but not without making his disappointment quite clear to her.

"I know, I know," he mumbled, dismissing her rather apathetic remark with a flick of his ear. "But promise me we'll have another dance later?"

"I promise," Victoria replied with a smile.

The Mating Dance came and went. Misto tried not to think too much about it, but he couldn't help but envy how happy Plato looked throughout the routine – and, more to the point, the look of pure bliss on Victoria's face when she was in his arms. With a somewhat disgusted sigh, he turned away from the couple in the spotlight, as if they would go away if he didn't look at them. His younger half-sister, Electra, batted at him playfully, seeming oblivious to his sour mood. Because the kittens were too young to participate fully in the dance and understand what it really meant, they were usually paired up temporarily with a sibling. Needing a distraction, Misto halfheartedly pawed back.

-x-X-x-

From where she was laying next to her brother, a small dark calico kitten stared at Misto with sadness in her wide blue eyes. It was her very first Ball, and she'd spent the night so far utterly amazed at the tuxedo tom's dancing. When he was beneath the spotlight, she could focus on nothing else. The way he leapt and pirouetted was so majestic and so perfect . . . and he made it seem so easy. She'd also noticed the way he'd been eyeing Victoria, and now she saw the disappointment shimmering in his gaze. A tom like that with so much talent and charm shouldn't have to be lonely, she thought. Not on a night like this.

Her brother looked at her, confused. "Jem?" he murmured to her, trying to follow her gaze. "Are you all right?"

Jemima blinked. Shaken out of her thoughts, she looked back at him. "Yeah . . . just fine, Tumble," she mewed absently.

The dance was winding to its close, and Tumblebrutus didn't look very convinced by her answer. But when the music livened up again, he glanced up as another figure approached behind them. "I think there's someone here to see you," he hinted.

Jemima turned around, and a black-and-white harlequin tom smiled at her and held out a paw. "Shall we dance?" he invited. It was his third Ball, but only because he'd managed to sneak into his first one after a disagreement with his mother concerning whether or not he was really old enough to attend. He was convinced that he was, and once the lights went down, he'd crept out of his den and hid among the other kittens once he reached the center clearing. By the time his mother realized he was there, it was too late to send him back. It was an achievement that he'd remained very proud of ever since.

Jemima couldn't help but smile back at him. "Sure, Alonzo," she answered, taking his paw and rising to her feet. Despite the age difference, it was no secret that Alonzo quite fancied her – and because she was too young to know better, she supposed that she fancied him too. He didn't exactly captivate her the way Misto did, but he was brave and strong and knew how to be gentle. To her, that was good enough. And besides, she told herself, it was useless concerning herself with Misto. He had other things to devote his attention to.

-x-X-x-

Misto was more than relieved when the Mating Dance was over. As the next song started, the more fast-paced music made him grin, and his paws itched to dance once again. Without a single moment's hesitation, he looked around for Victoria, and his heart sank as he spotted her still in the arms of Plato. Ears drooping, he made his way around the other dancing cats to them. "Um . . . Vicky?" he called once he was close enough.

Victoria's ears flicked up, and her gaze snapped away from Plato and onto the tuxedo tom. "Oh – hi, Misto," she greeted him with a pleasant smile.

Misto didn't smile back. "You . . . promised me a dance . . ." he reminded her in a mumble.

The snow-white queen blinked. "Oh . . . yes, I did, didn't I?" she mewed. "Well, just give me a few moments. Plato asked me first." She giggled and looked up at the other tom with a grin.

"No he didn't," Misto growled, though he was glad that Victoria didn't hear him. With a sigh, he turned and sulked away to dance alone.

Hours passed, and Victoria showed no signs of keeping her promise. Dawn was fast approaching, and Misto was beginning to consider simply giving up – but before he could leave to go home early, the Jellicles' old foe, Macavity, attacked the junkyard and kidnapped their leader, Old Deuteronomy. While the tribe sat around in hopeless confusion and wondered what to do, the Rum Tum Tugger, the tribe's teen heartthrob and wannabe superstar, called upon Misto and his magic powers to bring the leader back. Misto did so with ease, and had the opportunity to perform another of his incredible dance solos in the process. Suddenly, the entire tribe adored him, and his spirits lifted considerably. By the time he was done, he'd decided that it would do no damage to stay until the end of the Ball.

His performance brought forth another reward, too. In the pre-dawn darkness, there was time to spare before the Jellicle Choice was made. And so another dance erupted. When it began, Victoria came running right up to Misto and hugged him tightly. "That was incredible!" she exclaimed. "You saved the whole tribe!"

Misto squirmed in her grip, trying to make enough room for himself to breathe. "Well, not really," he replied with one eyebrow slightly elevated. "But thanks anyway. It's nice to know you appreciate it."

"Oh, I do!" she declared, releasing him and giving him a wide grin. "We got our leader back thanks to you – why wouldn't I appreciate it? Who knows what that horrible monster might've done to him if you hadn't—"

"Yes, yes – I know," Misto cut her off, not wanting to talk about it considering that Victoria seemed to have forgotten that the "horrible monster" was also his father. "It was no big deal, really." He grinned back at her rather eagerly as he prompted, "Now what about that dance you promised me?"

Victoria giggled. "I can't think of a better time for it," she purred.

And so again they danced, and again every onlooker was enraptured, fascinated by their seemingly impossible perfection. And again Misto's worried seemed to evaporate and the world around them seemed to disappear as he lost himself in the dance and in those eyes that were the color of liquid crystal.

The dance ended, but there was still time enough for one more before the Jellicle Choice. And so, after all of the high excitement and energy that had fueled the whole night, a slow dance seemed to be the perfect way to conclude the Ball. As the slow music started to play, Misto gingerly took the snow white queen's paws in his. He wasn't about to stop now. "One last dance?" he requested softly, his voice tinged with longing.

Victoria just grinned. "You're so charming when you want something," she told him affectionately. Before Misto could apologize, her paws were draped over his shoulders and she was looking at him expectantly.

When his brain caught up with her action, Misto grinned right back. His paws dropped to her waist, and as the music went on, the black-and-white couple began to sway back and forth. Soon, they were sweeping gracefully around the dance floor once more, and under the glow of the spotlight, black and white had never looked more beautiful together.

Misto soon became aware of his heart pounding aggressively in his chest, and he knew that it wasn't because of the dancing. He couldn't take his eyes away from Victoria's; it was as if she had locked him in her gaze and thrown away the key. And Misto didn't mind it one bit. He adjusted his grip on her slender waist, pulling her closer, and the little smile she gave him made his heart begin to melt. He smiled back and began to purr quietly, but then a sense of desire began to tug at the back of his mind. The song would be over soon, but he couldn't let the night end with so many feelings unspoken; there was something more that he wanted from his partner. He began to lean toward her, and his purr grew louder when she did the same. His eyes began to close as he became aware of nothing more than the two of them, the soft music, and her warm breath on his muzzle . . .

"A-_hem_."

Snapped back into the junkyard, Misto jumped and drew away from Victoria, whose lips had been scarcely a whisker-width from his own. Plato had appeared next to them, and was now looking at them with his arms folded across his chest and a disapproving glint in his eyes. There was a moment of awkward silence undertoned by the music, and Misto took the opportunity to loosen his grip on the white queen and shuffle half a step backward.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt," the rust-and-white tom murmured, "but . . . may I?"

Misto's heart sank. He glanced at Victoria, who shot him an apologetic glance and then nodded her approval. He nodded back halfheartedly, and released her and watched as she and Plato pranced away. The song was now drawing to its close, and he turned away with a sigh a second too soon to see Plato and Victoria kiss under the dying light of the moon.

The Jellicle Choice was made, and the Ball came to an end. Unbeknownst to a certain group of young cats, however, the conclusion of the night was nothing more than the end of the beginning.


	2. Chapter 1: Victoria

_AN: For anyone that may be wondering, yes, the Ball described in the prologue was meant to be the one that takes place in the musical. I figure that if the Ball is supposed to last all night and the musical lasts only two hours, there have to be _some_ things they don't show us, right?_

_So, here we go. Be aware that this doesn't exemplify my best work by any means – I just wanted to get this chapter done. I hope you enjoy it anyway!_

-x-X-x-

It was approaching noon the next day before the Jellicles, tired after the long night of merriment and celebration, began to emerge from their dens to mingle in the center clearing. From where he lay sprawled out in his pipe, Misto groggily forced his eyes open and squinted against the bright light outside. For a moment, he debated going right back to sleep, but the murmur of the familiar voices of his friends and tribemates enticed him to come outside. He slowly emerged from the pipe, rubbing his eyes, and then bent over and stretched, taking in the feeling of the warm sun on his black fur. That accomplished, he sat down and allowed his jaws to gape open in a wide yawn, and his mouth curled into a smile as he closed it with a sigh. Memories of the previous night danced around in his mind as he gazed out across the clearing. There seemed to be an extra kind of energy buzzing around that morning, and Misto was no more immune to it than anyone else. He had thwarted Macavity and saved the Jellicle Leader, yes, but there was only one thing occupying his mind at that moment: Victoria.

_Victoria_. The mere thought of the name alone was enough to send a shiver of exhilaration down the tuxedo tom's spine in spite of the warmth of the sun. Whatever suspicions about his feelings for her had existed before the Ball, the previous night had more than confirmed them. When he remembered the thrill of dancing with her, the feeling of her paws in his own, the jolt that coursed through him each time their eyes met, a purr slipped out of his throat and his little smile grew into a wide, silly grin. Mister Mistoffelees was in love. He was sure of it. And today he was going to tell her, and Plato wasn't going to stop him.

"Well, well . . . if it isn't the magical, the _marvelous_, Mister Mistoffelees!" It was the Rum Tum Tugger, of course, who brought Misto out of his fantasy with a start. The maned tom plopped down right next to the magical cat with that smirkish grin he always seemed to have.

"Hi, Tugger," Misto greeted him absently, hardly even glancing at him and instead scanning the clearing for one silky white pelt.

Tugger tried to follow his gaze, but, quickly giving up on that, leaned back against the opening of the pipe and nudged Misto with his elbow. "What'cha thinkin' about, little buddy? Your moment of glory last night, hmm?"

Frowning a bit as he didn't see Victoria anywhere, Misto shook his head. "No . . ."

Tugger paused, obviously waiting for him to say something else. But he didn't, and Tugger frowned too. "Okay . . . you're thinking about your kickass dance solo?"

"No . . ." Misto repeated, the tone of his voice completely flat.

". . . My show-stopping number?" Tugger tried hopefully.

"No . . ."

Tugger huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're gonna have to help me out here, little buddy. All this thinking is hurting my brain. What is it?"

A moment of silence. And then: "Victoria . . ."

Tugger blinked. Then, sagging a bit, he turned away from Misto, discouraged. "Oh," he grumbled with a pointed flick of his tail. "Well . . . alrighty, then."

Misto ignored him completely and rose to his paws without a single word. If Victoria wasn't in the main clearing, he was going to find her.

At the sound of his movement, Tugger's ears swiveled and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see the tuxedo tom beginning to walk away. "What—hey!" he yelped, and sprang to his paws as well, intercepting Misto's path. "Where're you going?"

Misto scowled up at him and pushed him out of the way. "Victoria . . ." he repeated absently in the same tone of voice.

"Whoa, don't touch the mane, m'kay?" Tugger chided. "I just groomed it." But Misto was ignoring him again, and he was gone before Tugger could stall any longer.

Another figure approached Tugger from behind. It heaved a sigh and shook its head, and folded its tabby-striped arms across its chest. "Poor guy," Munkustrap murmured, watching Misto as he progressed across the clearing.

Tugger looked at his brother with a guilty expression on his face. "Should I have told him?" he asked.

"I thought that was what you were going to do," Munku answered, lifting one eyebrow at the maned tom.

"Well . . . I was getting there," Tugger tried to defend himself, his proud ego obviously wounded by the condescending note in the tabby's voice. "He just kind of . . . walked away first."

Munku frowned, but dismissed his brother with a simple roll of his eyes. "Well, now he'll just have to find out the hard way, I suppose," he decided. "Just try not to do or say anything _too _stupid when he does."

-x-X-x-

Relieved to be away from Tugger, Misto stood in the middle of the clearing, where he and Victoria had danced the previous night. There was a slight frown on his face as he looked all around, unable to detect a trace of the white queen. The words that he wanted – nay, needed to say to her pranced on the tip of his tongue, and he knew that he couldn't hold them in much longer. And yet she was nowhere to be seen. A thought then came to him, however – perhaps she was still in her den. After all, it had been just as exhausting a night for her as it had been for anyone else, most likely more so. All of the Jellicles needed their rest, and Victoria was sure to be no different. Ears perking with newfound determination, Misto gave a nod and the grin returned to his face as he ducked between two piles of junk. Victoria's den lay tucked away from the main clearing in a quieter part of the junkyard, and Misto knew the route well, having walked it many times. His paws seemed lighter than normal this time, and he quickly reached his destination: a clothing hamper turned on its side that still had some old clothes in it, with a sheet draped over the opening to form a door. Not expecting the white queen to have any guests over at the early hour, Misto brushed right past the sheet and into the den.

The sight that greeted him immediately made him wish he hadn't.

There was Victoria, sure enough. She lay on her back, sprawled out on the clothes that she used as her bedding. And crouching over her on all fours, his mouth sealed over hers, was none other than Plato. There was a soft and rather sultry purr flowing from both of them, and their two mingled scents, overlaid by a third scent Misto didn't care to try to identify, practically smacked the tuxedo tom in the face. Eyes wide with dismay, he tried to force himself right back outside, but somehow his legs seemed to have forgotten how to move.

Fortunately for Misto, the sight didn't last long. Once he entered the den, Plato and Victoria both quickly sensed his presence and terminated their activity to look up and stare directly at him, making him take a startled step backward.

"Misto!" Victoria squeaked, her eyes opening wide and a pink tint beginning to color her face.

"V-Vicky?" Misto managed. He tried to force more words out, but none came – shock had snatched the voice right out of him.

"You know," Plato growled, breaking the silence, "there comes a time when you really need to learn to mind your own—"

"Plato, please," Victoria pleaded softly. "He didn't know . . ."

"Didn't know what?" When Misto did find his voice again, it sounded like a kitten's.

Victoria's black-tipped ears ducked apologetically. She glanced up at Plato and eased her way out from under him, and then brushed out of the den with a hurried, "Come out here."

Ignoring Plato's glare, Misto turned and stumbled out after her, his head spinning with questions and the unspoken words that had been temporarily swallowed up by the moment. But in spite of what he had seen, when he looked at Victoria, he couldn't help the dreamy look that took over his eyes. She stopped and turned to him, and the goofy little smile crawled back onto his face. For a moment, the image of her and Plato evanesced right out of his mind; all he could think of was her dazzling white fur under the glaring spotlight, her unrivaled grace and elegance, and those captivating eyes that were gazing right back at him.

His thought process not exactly at its peak at that moment, Misto decided that now was as good a time for what he had to say as any. "Vicky, I—"

"No, no," Victoria interrupted. "_I'm _sorry."

The smile dropped like a stone from Misto's face. She thought he was trying to apologize!

"I'm sorry that you had to see that," Victoria continued. With a sigh, she amended, "Well, I suppose I should say I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. You just . . . seemed so happy last night, and I didn't want to ruin it for you. And, anyway, I was sure that somebody else was going to tell you, even if I didn't . . ."

"Tell me _what_?" Misto whined impatiently, a glimmer of worry overtaking the glow in his eyes.

Victoria sighed. She was clearly trying to avoid his gaze as she softly explained, "Plato and I . . . we're mates now. He asked me after the Ball, but I guess you'd already gone back to your den and didn't stay around to see it."

In that moment, Misto felt his heart drop into his stomach. If it was possible for a white face to turn pale, his did. "M . . . mates?" he croaked. "But . . . I thought you said the dance didn't mean anything."

"The Mating Dance?" The white queen blushed. "Well . . . I thought it didn't. I guess Plato thought otherwise. He's had his eye on me for quite a while, you know, and this was probably just the opportunity he was looking for."

Misto stared at her. "But what about _me_?" he finally blurted.

The silence that followed was almost painful, but the tuxedo tom would have preferred the silence to the next words that issued from the queen. "Misto . . . I like you. Please don't think I don't. But it just wouldn't work out between us. I love Plato. I know you don't want to hear that from me, but it's the truth."

Misto bit his lower lip, trying to ignore the feeling of his heart tearing in two. "But . . . but _why_?" he asked pleadingly. "Why wouldn't we work out? Last night was _perfect_, Vicky. What on earth does Plato have that I don't?"

"About two inches, I'd say." Plato had appeared leaning against the inside of the hamper, peeking out from behind the sheet with a smirk on his face. Of the three of them, only he seemed pleased about what was going on.

Misto turned around, startled, and his face suddenly flushed red. "_Now_ who needs to mind his own business?" he growled, folding his arms over his chest.

Plato just chuckled. "You heard what she said," he replied. "She's mine now. You had your chance, so kindly put a sock in it." His gaze shifted to Victoria. "And as for you . . . come back to bed. I wasn't finished with you yet." His voice was practically dripping with lust.

The white queen heaved a sigh and let her ears droop. She nodded, but then looked at Misto. "I'm sorry . . ." she repeated softly, and then leaned forward and planted a kiss on the tuxedo tom's cheek. She gazed sadly at him for one moment more, and then turned and disappeared into her den behind a veil of white.

"But I . . ." Misto started to call after her, but she was gone before he could finish. He stared blankly in the direction of the den, his eyes, which only minutes ago had been alive with energy, now dull and unfocused. His tail hung limply behind him, and the warm and life-giving glow of the sun suddenly felt cold. So quietly that he knew only he could hear it, he finished, each word feeling like a claw-scratch on his heart, "I . . . love . . . you . . ."


	3. Chapter 2: Doctor Tugger

_AN: Sorry this chapter took so long! I've been really busy lately and haven't had much time to work on things like fanfiction. Ultimately, I just wanted to get this chapter finished so that I could stop feeling bad about it. I hope you like it!_

-x-X-x-

That afternoon found Mistoffelees right back where he had started: curled up in his pipe and hidden away from the outside world. The surrounding junkyard, with all its residents laughing and playing and chattering away about the successful Ball, was suddenly too happy and bright; the tuxedo tom needed to be alone so that he could nurse his broken heart in peace.

But, of course, as with everything in life, peace wouldn't come easily.

"Mistooo . . ." whined the incessant voice from outside. "Come on, little buddy. Come on out and talk to me."

"No," Misto growled firmly. Not even his tail-tip twitched; he was reduced to a talking lump of black-and-white fur. "Go away, Tugger."

"Please?" Tugger tried.

"Shove off," the lump replied.

For a moment, there was silence. But before Misto could breathe a sigh of relief, the sound of fur brushing against metal accompanied by uncomfortable grunts betrayed that Tugger had taken his "little buddy's" reticence as an invitation to come right in. Misto groaned in exasperation as he tried to block out the sound of the maned tom cursing as he navigated through the pipe.

"God, it's kind of a tight squeeze in here, isn't it?" The voice was getting closer. "Now I'm gonna have to do my mane all over again. Dammit."

"Yeah, well, maybe I like it this way," Misto grumbled. "It's big enough for me and keeps other annoyances out."

"We seriously need to work on your people skills, little guy," Tugger commented. "Where are you, anyway? It's so dark in here I can't see sh—" A sharp hiss cut him off as he crawled right over Misto's tail.

A white face peeped up and glared at Tugger. "Congratulations, you found me," Misto announced sarcastically. "What do you want?"

"I just wanna talk to you," Tugger answered, frowning. "I mean, you just came back from Victoria's place and went right in here without saying anyth—"

"I don't want to talk about it." The face disappeared again.

"It'll make you feel better if you tell someone about it," Tugger reasoned.

"What am I, a kitten?" Misto retorted. "Leave me alone, Tugger."

There was a short pause, but then: "That's _Doctor_ Tugger to you." Misto could practically hear the grin in the maned tom's voice.

The tuxedo tom lifted his head slightly. "What the hell . . .? Tugger, if this is another one of your schemes to get me to try catnip—"

"Doctor Rum Tum Tugger, psychoanalyst!" Tugger declared proudly. "Here to talk to you about your problems so that you can have a better life!"

Misto stared at him. His expression clearly said "You have got to be kidding me", but nothing came out of his mouth from the shock of hearing Tugger use such a big word as "psychoanalyst".

Tugger just grinned right back at him. "We're gonna do this the right way, little buddy."

Finally finding his voice, Misto muttered, "You've been reading those human magazines again, haven't you?"

Ignoring him, Tugger attempted to sit up. "Right then – now, tell me what—" The dull _bonk_ of his head hitting the top of the pipe promptly ended the sentence and Misto couldn't help but snicker. Tugger cursed under his breath and hunched over, rubbing his head with a paw. "Uh . . . could we do this outside?" he mumbled.

Misto lifted one eyebrow. There seemed to be no getting rid of the maned tom. He sat up halfway, leaning forward so as not to make the same mistake as Tugger, and heaved a sigh. "On one condition," he conceded, his front paws beginning to glow purple. "You drop the ridiculous human act." And with a cloud of purple sparks and a small _POOF_, they were seated outside the pipe, gazing out over the junkyard and all the cats in it once more.

Tugger let out a startled yelp at the sudden change of scenery and began blinking ferociously against the bright sunlight. Then he glanced at his mane, which was ruffled and dirty from being forced through the pipe, and made a disgusted noise. "God, I'm a mess," he complained, and proceeded to lick the tawny-colored fur clean. Meanwhile, Misto observed him with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow elevated, obviously unamused.

It seemed to take a few seconds for Tugger to remember that Misto was there. When he did, he paused mid-lick and muttered, "Oh, right." He appeared to think for a moment, and then resumed his grooming, managing to get out between licks, "Now – tell me – in your own words – what happened."

Misto scowled. "What do you mean? You _know _what happened, don't you? I'm apparently the only cat in London who didn't know Victoria got mated to Plato last night."

"In your own words," Tugger repeated, sitting up straight and looking expectantly at the tuxedo tom. "Come on. Let it out."

Misto sighed heavily. "_Fine_. I woke up and everything was fine and dandy and I went to go talk to Victoria because we danced together at the Ball and I wanted to tell her how I really felt about her and when I got to her den she was screwing around with Plato who now apparently hates me and she told me it wouldn't work out between us so I came back here and went inside so I could be alone and then you came along wanting to know everything about it. End of story." He looked away, glaring at some unseen point at the edge of the clearing.

Tugger grinned, satisfied, and nodded. "There," he murmured. "Don't you feel better now that you've told someone?"

"No," Misto answered immediately. "What's your next brilliant idea, _Doctor_?"

Tugger hesitated. "But . . . but that was supposed to work," he protested. Obviously, reading the magazines he found laying around could only get him so far. "I guess—"

"Tugger! There you are!" The sound of another voice sent a wave of relief over the maned tom's "patient". Munkustrap quickened his pace and made his way over to the two toms. "How's—oh." He stopped at the sight of Misto facing away from Tugger and flicking his tail angrily. The tabby tom sighed. "Misto, is he annoying you?"

"Yes," Misto replied, and at the same time Tugger blurted out "No!"

Munkustrap eyed his brother skeptically and sat down with the two of them. "I'm sorry," he muttered to Misto. "I told him not to do anything stupid . . ."

"I didn't!" Tugger protested, but both toms ignored him. "Easier said than done for him," Misto grumbled.

"I know," Munkustrap conceded. "My fault for thinking I could trust him, I suppose."

"Hey!" Tugger cut in sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. "My little buddy needs help! I _tried_, okay?"

"What did you do?" Munkustrap interrogated, raising an eyebrow.

"I got him to talk about what happened," Tugger answered with a hint of pride in his voice. "It's what all the professionals do."

"He tried to pull some human doctor crap he read about in a magazine," Misto clarified, glancing at Munkustrap and then glaring at Tugger, who shrunk back.

Munkustrap let his face drop into one paw. "I should have known," he mumbled. "Tugger, no more reading magazines for a month, okay?"

"What?!" Tugger burst out. "But that's not fair—"

"Thanks, Munku," Misto muttered dully.

"Hey, don't encourage him!" Tugger scolded.

Misto and Munkustrap both glared at him. "Shut up, Tugger," they said at the same time. Tugger ducked his ears and sat back with a frustrated "Hmph."

Munkustrap turned to the tuxedo tom and sighed. "Sorry about that. Are you all right, Misto?"

"Not really," Misto mumbled, avoiding the tabby tom's gaze. "I want to be alone. But apparently even that's asking too much . . ."

Munkustrap glanced at Tugger and frowned. "They say time cures any ailment," he mused. "Things will get better, Misto. You have my word on that. If you need some time to yourself, you can have it. I'll let the tribe know not to bother you." After receiving an appreciative look from the tuxedo tom, he rose to his paws and beckoned to his brother. "That means you too, Tugger."

Tugger stood as well, albeit reluctantly. "If you still feel like you want to talk about it," he hinted, "I'm always here." He flashed a grin that Misto didn't return, and then followed Munkustrap away.

Scarcely a moment passed before a shrill squeal of "TUGGER!" erupted from somewhere in the clearing. A swarm of queen-kits converged on the maned tom, who promptly seemed to forget about caring about Misto's problems.

Misto rolled his eyes. "Of course you are, _Doctor_," he sneered to himself, and turned to retreat back into his pipe. But at the sight of another cat approaching him, he paused. One of Tugger's fanclub seemed to have separated from the rest; as she drew closer, Misto recognized Jemima, the tiniest member of the Jellicle Tribe. The previous night had been her first Ball; it had been disputed whether or not she was even old enough to attend, but as the night wore on, she had managed to astound her tribemates with her sweet singing voice and her wisdom that seemed far beyond her years. It was obvious that she was well on her way to becoming the tribe's resident sweetheart. Curious as to what she could possibly want with him rather than Tugger, Misto stayed put as she came up to him and sat down.

"Hi, Mister Mistoffelees," she mewed shyly in a voice that was as tiny as she was.

"Hi, Jemima," he answered, making an effort to sound cordial. "You were great at the Ball last night."

Jemima blushed. "Thanks," she managed, averting her eyes to the ground. "So were you . . . I mean, with bringing back Old Deuteronomy and everything. I can tell you don't think what you did was all that great, but to the rest of us it was. It really meant a lot."

Despite his sour mood, Misto couldn't help but smile the slightest bit. "Well . . . thank you," he replied modestly. "It's nice to feel appreciated sometimes."

The queen-kit looked up, surprised. "Cats appreciate you, Mister Mistoffelees," she told him. "You're brilliant. You probably just don't realize it because you're so used to your own talents that you take them for granted."

Now it was Misto's turn to be surprised. In one sentence, Jemima had managed to fit more comfort and profundity than Tugger had during their entire "discussion". "I . . . I guess so," he murmured after a pause, not sure what else to say while her words sunk in. "But call me Misto."

Jemima giggled sheepishly. "Okay . . . Misto. I just wanted to say—" She trailed off as another tom approached, confusion in his blue eyes. Jemima blinked up at him. "Hi, Alonzo," she mewed.

"Hi," Alonzo responded. "What are you doing over here? Munkustrap was just saying not to bother Misto right now."

The smile on the tuxedo tom's face began to fade. "She wasn't bothering me," he tried to protest, but Alonzo shook his head. "Munkustrap said you needed time alone," he countered. "So, we'll let you be alone." He offered a paw to Jemima. "Come on. Tugger and your friends are waiting for you."

Jemima took his paw and obediently let him lead her away, giving Misto a quick apologetic look as she left. Misto drooped. For one short moment while they talked, his thoughts hadn't been centered around Victoria. For one short moment, he'd almost been happy. But the moment was gone as quickly as it came, marching off to join the fanclub for Doctor Rum Tum Tugger, psychoanalyst. With a heavy sigh as he returned to the real world, Misto just shook his head and turned around, slinking back into his pipe lest the outside world get the better of him.


	4. Chapter 3: Call Me Misto

_AN: My deepest and sincerest apologies to have kept you waiting so long for this chapter! The past five months (Heaviside, has it really been _that_ long?!) have been hectic, to say the least, and have left me extremely limited time to work on things like fanfiction. But things are slowing down now, and hopefully the chapters will begin to come more quickly from now on. I really hope you enjoy this and aren't too mad at me for the dearth of updates!_

_Also, I've made the executive decision that the sequel to this story, All Over Again, will be discontinued and taken down. The elements of that story that are most worth saving will be incorporated into this one, but I feel that by the time this story is done, a sequel just won't be worth it._

_Enough of my rambling, though. Enjoy the chapter; I hope it's at least somewhat worth the wait!_

-x-X-x-

Life is seldom fair. Mistoffelees was learning that the hard way. No matter what, there will always be unequal opportunities and there will always be favoritism. There will always be talents overlooked and love unrequited. Even to the best and kindest cats, bad things are bound to happen. And there's nothing that can be done about it. When life rears its ugly head, the best strategy is simply to endure, to make the most of what you're given until the clouds begin to part. Things may get worse before they get better, but they _will _get better – it's just a matter of waiting. In order to see the rainbow, you must first brave the storm.

On this particular day, a month after the Jellicle Ball, Mistoffelees was off in a corner of the junkyard doing what he did best: dancing. When he danced, it was so easy for the magical cat to lose himself in what he was doing, to let the rest of the world fade into the background. For that fleeting moment, his problems didn't exist, and the dance was all that mattered. And for that fleeting moment, he was able to let himself believe that things really were that simple.

The truth has a tendency to resist simplicity, though. Things had seemed to be getting better – it had only taken a couple of days before Misto was willing to come out of his pipe and socialize with other cats once again. Within a week, he was laughing and smiling just as he used to, and all seemed forgotten and forgiven. The hole that Victoria had left in him had felt like it was closing, but then it had been ripped back open when it was announced that the white queen was pregnant with Plato's kitten.

Misto had tried telling himself it didn't matter. Victoria wasn't a part of his life anymore; he'd moved on. But thinking that way just made the hole in him hurt more. There seemed to be some stubborn part of him that still wanted to love her, even if the news had chased away any chances of winning her back. And that stubborn sense of longing was what made it hurt the most.

He needed an escape now more than ever. And so he danced. The announcement had been made a few days ago now, but it still hurt. Misto had been choosing to spend as much time as he could alone, lest Doctor Rum Tum Tugger, psychoanalyst try to make him his "patient" again. Currently, the tuxedo tom was hidden away in a little alcove almost completely walled in by garbage – alone and away from prying eyes. His eyes were closed, giving him a deceptively peaceful appearance as he absently twirled around with seemingly impossible grace for someone with so much on his mind. There was the slightest smile on his face as his own dance worked its unique kind of magic on him. That was one thing Misto knew he could rely on – his dancing could somehow always cure what ailed him.

He didn't know that he was performing for an audience.

As his little routine, which he'd made up on the spot, came to an end, Misto's eyes eased open. He glanced around with a slight sigh, but then did a double-take and froze mid-step. A pair of wide blue eyes was peeping out at him from the entrance to the alcove. Misto let out a startled shout and instinctively fired off a bolt of electricity in the direction of the intruder, stumbling awkwardly as he did so. The other cat gave a responding shriek and ducked down; the bolt struck a heap of junk above her head and exploded into a cloud of sparks that showered to the ground and quickly fizzled out. Bits of garbage toppled off the pile and onto the ground, thin wisps of smoke rising from where the bolt had singed them. Having regained his footing, Misto glanced up to see a tiny dark calico kitten emerge shyly from behind the junk heap, her ears ducked in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Mister Mistoffelees," she mewed quietly, daring a glance up at him before staring at one of the scraps of garbage on the ground. A faint pink blush could be seen tinting her cheeks.

Recognizing the kitten, Misto quickly relaxed and forced his fur to lie flat. "It's all right, Jemima," he mumbled. "I didn't think there was anyone watching . . . you just startled me, that's all."

The kitten opened her mouth, but before she could speak again, Misto quickly added, "And I've told you – call me Misto."

Jemima smiled a tiny smile. "You dance so beautifully, Misto," she told him timidly. "I'm sorry for intruding . . . but I saw you come over here all by yourself and I wondered what you were doing. I didn't realize you still wanted to be alone."

"Oh – no, it's fine," Misto insisted. "You can stay if you want. There are some cats I'm trying to avoid more than others, but you're not one of them." After a short pause, he hastily added, "Thanks for the compliment."

Jemima nodded. "You're welcome," she responded.

Another few seconds passed, and neither of the two young cats seemed to know what else to say. In an attempt to disperse the awkwardness, Misto padded over to the edge of the alcove where there was a tumbled pile of old books. He sat down on a faded hardcover and swished his tail over the spot next to him, inviting the queen-kit to join him. As Jemima made her way over, the tuxedo tom asked, "So, what brought you here to see me?"

"Well . . . I wanted to check on you," Jemima admitted as she delicately sat down. "We haven't seen very much of you at all since . . . the news."

"Yeah." Misto looked away, and his voice was dull as he spoke. "That."

Jemima's ears drooped. "I know it must have been hard for you to hear that," she murmured sympathetically. "You seemed to be doing so well, too. Just when we all thought you were finally back to normal . . ."

"And I thought so, too," Misto sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

A look of pity flashed across Jemima's face. "Oh, don't say that," she urged him. "Things will get better, Mister– Misto. They always do."

Her innocent slip-up as she spoke his name brought a suggestion of a smile to Misto's face, but it didn't last long. "I _know _things will get better," he muttered. "I just wish I knew _when_."

Jemima blinked. After a moment of silence, she quietly suggested, "I believe that things will be better as soon as you're ready for them to be."

Misto looked at her with a frown. "What do you mean? I'm ready now."

"Are you?" Their eyes locked for a heartbeat. Misto was the one to look away, but he could feel the queen-kit's gaze still resting on him. Jemima continued: "If you want things to get better, you need to be ready to move on and accept the things that you can't change. If there's something you're not willing to let go of, then you're not truly ready."

Misto opened his mouth to defend himself, but no words came to him. Jemima was right. He wasn't ready to let go of Victoria. To admit defeat. To move on.

As if she'd read his thoughts, Jemima went on, "It's Victoria who's holding you back. You still want her to love you and can't accept that she doesn't. But you don't need her in order to be happy, Misto. You have it good in your life. There's a whole tribe full of cats who adore you and your talents. You've got cats who are willing to help you through this. There's Munkustrap, who's like a father to you. There's Tugger . . ." She trailed off, and Misto looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "He's . . . well . . . he tries. And then you do have me . . ."

Misto blinked. "You?" he murmured. "You care that much?"

"I want to see you get over this as much as anyone," Jemima answered sweetly. "I can't stand seeing cats upset. Especially not when they have so many reasons to be happy."

The conversation died away, and Misto was left in thoughtful silence. He couldn't argue with that. He supposed it was rather selfish of him to let one cat have this much of an effect on him when there were so many others he was as good as ignoring. The past was the past, wasn't it? Victoria was just a part of that past now. He couldn't continue to live his life revolving around her.

But if that was really true, why did it still hurt so much when he tried to convince himself of it?

"You need to get your mind off of her," Jemima's voice cut into his thoughts, as if she was reading his mind. Again. "Pain is only in your head, Misto. If you fall and scrape your knee, it only hurts when you think about it."

Misto stared at her. "How do you do that?" he finally asked.

The most innocent look of confusion crossed Jemima's face. "Do what?"

"How do you always know exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right time? What you just said sounds like something you'd expect to hear from Old Deuteronomy."

Jemima giggled. Her giggle sounded like all the best parts of a bird's song. "I just pay attention, that's all," she mewed simply.

"To . . .?"

She shrugged. "Everything. You can learn a lot from just watching what goes on around you."

With a quiet sigh, Misto just shook his head, although there was a smile on his face as he said, "You're something else, Jemima."

A faint red tint painted the queen-kit's cheeks. "Says the one with magical powers," she teased.

Able to feel his smile growing, Misto playfully retorted, "Yeah? I could spend a year watching what goes on around me and I still couldn't come up with something half as profound as that."

Jemima smiled up at him in return. "Oh, don't undermine yourself," she told him sweetly. "I could spend _lots _of years practicing and I still couldn't dance or do magic half as well as you."

"Stop that," Misto half-chuckled, giving the queen-kit a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

She nudged him back. "You stop first."

"All right, all right!" A laugh forced its way from Misto's throat. "You win. Let's just agree that no one can do everything . . . but everyone can do something, right?"

Jemima blinked. "That's a pretty intelligent observation," she pointed out. "See, Misto? You have more potential than you give yourself credit for."

"I guess," Misto granted. "But I don't like to seem like I'm showing off. During the Ball . . . what you saw was Tugger's doing. He told me beforehand to be more 'showy' than usual for the night, and so I did. And I guess the attention was nice, but I dunno. It kinda made me feel like I was asking for praise, which I didn't like."

"We have a lot in common," Jemima observed quietly. Shyly, almost.

"We do," Misto agreed just as quietly.

The two young cats lapsed into silence once again. Misto fidgeted, wondering whether he should say something else, but a few seconds later the decision was made for him. A tortoiseshell kitten about Jemima's age came scampering into the garbage-walled alcove, and, seeing her friend, skidded to a stop. "Jem! There you are!"

The sudden voice made Misto jump before he recognized his half-sister Electra. "Heaviside, Lec," he muttered, affectionate but annoyed. "A warning would've been nice."

Electra tipped her head to one side. "Why? Did I interrupt somethin'?"

Misto exchanged a glance with Jemima and ducked his ears. "Well, no," he answered. "Not really. But still . . ."

His sister looked skeptical as she glanced back and forth between the two cats in front of her. "Mm-_hmm_," she murmured. "Well, Jem, Alonzo's looking for you. You just kinda disappeared and he's getting worried – or maybe just annoyed. I dunno. Hard to tell with him. But you should prob'ly go find him."

Jemima sighed, but nodded obediently as she rose to her paws. "Okay," she said simply. She glanced back at Misto and promised, "We'll talk later." And she was gone.

It took Misto a moment to realize that Electra was still there after Jemima left. At first, he simply stared in the direction Jemima had disappeared, but then he gradually became conscious of his sister looking at him. He shook his head and looked back at her, and arched an eyebrow. "What?"

Electra smirked. "I've seen that look before," she told him.

"What look?" The defensive tone in his own voice took Misto by surprise.

"That dreamy look you just had," Electra elaborated. "You used to get that look all the time when you were around Victoria."

Instantly, Misto's face began to grow hot. "I . . . I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, avoiding his sister's eyes.

"Sure you don't," Electra snickered. "Don't worry, though, big brother – I won't tell her." Leaving it at that, she scampered away before Misto could argue.

Misto heaved a sigh. Not having much else to think about, his mind drifted back to what had just happened. For a kitten who talked so little, Jemima certainly said a lot. He wondered if other cats knew how smart the young queen was; why should cats like him get so much attention when there was an unrecognized genius like her in his wake?

A tiny smile wound its way onto his face. Jemima was so modest and courteous despite her gift. She was brilliant, but she kept quiet about it. Misto wondered why he'd never noticed how similar the two of them were to each other, but his smile faded as the answer came to him: Victoria. His infatuation with the white queen had blinded him to everything else that was going on around him. Jemima had knocked the truth into him, and now that she was gone, the pain that came with that truth was catching up to him.

Brow furrowing, Misto pushed himself up and made his way back to the middle of the alcove, where he began to dance again. While Jemima was there, for a moment nothing had hurt. Everything had felt right again. But that moment was over now; it had left with her. Now, Misto was on his own again, left alone with his pain and with even more on his mind than he'd had to begin with.


End file.
